VI: Reclaimed Land
"Sierra Scouting Party"
UNSC Nighthawk
Armitage's avatar unfurled his fingers in a delicate manner, the motion reminiscent of blooming flowers. From his palm, a tiny marble grew in size and began floating above his hand. When it got to a certain diameter, Armitage simply "tossed" the orb, and it continued to grow next to his head until it was taller than he was.
The hologram of the planet was depicted as being streaked with white clouds. Vast continents of green and yellow lay nestled between blackened volcanic ranges, a planet violent and calm all at once. Ice remained fixated at the poles and the oceans seemed to glow a ghostly blue.
Armitage's audience of two were positioned at twelve and seven around the holopedestal. Kelly was leaning forward slightly, her MJOLNIR armor still completely enveloping her, while the brutal glow of slipspace warped past the canopy just behind her, outlining her body in a thin contour of electric blue. Nearly opposite, Furan stood with her arms crossed, staring intently upon the images that the AI was displaying, still mulling over the events on Vona and of her own existence trapped on board a vessel with one of the deadliest operatives known to the galaxy.
The Elite had been rather quiet on the journey back to the Nighthawk after the raid on the Insurrectionist outpost had concluded. Kelly had kept a close eye on the alien once they had made it back to the prowler and continued to do so all throughout the entire process of exiting Vona's atmosphere so that they could make the jump to their next location. While their last conversation on board the Phantom had not ended as well as one could have hoped, a positive spin could still be applied—things had not deteriorated so badly between to the point where they were about to throw down without abandon. They were both well aware of the mission and what was at stake, but Kelly knew that any more displays of the UNSC's lamentable conduct would only erode Furan's trust in her more and more. Perhaps Kelly could cling to some semblance of cooperation, but right now, her reputation and the UNSC's were still inextricably linked in the Elite's eyes.
Ignorant to the icy mood on the bridge, Armitage gestured to the skewbald world that slowly turned on an invisible axis next to him.
"Wichita," he said. "Fourth planet of the Draco system. Gravity is set at 1.07G and atmosphere is at a stable 1.04. As one of the Outer Colonies, Wichita was colonized in the twenty-fourth century and set up as center for farming after terraforming operations had completed. However, because of its distance to UEG operations centers, Wichita was a planet ripe for Insurrectionist activities and became home to some of the leaders of the fractious cells at certain points. For a period of sixty years, Wichita was under the control of these Insurrectionist forces, before the UNSC was dispatched to the system to pacify the unruly inhabitants. Marine operations concluded in the early twenty-sixth century with the successful assassination of the leaders of the main rebellious force on the planet: Legionis Draconis. However, though the Insurrection had been wiped out in the system, the UNSC refused to sponsor further development of Wichita due to the planet's significant support for their occupiers and prevented the local governments from receiving any financial aid. This resulted in an exodus of most of the population, though sparse settlements remain."
Furan tilted her head as she examined the hovering orb. "Explains why the Covenant might have passed over this world, given the low population numbers—no sign of glassing anywhere upon the surface, assuming these images are current."
"Figures. It would not have sufficed as a significant military target otherwise," Kelly said, a bit more gruffly than she might have intended, but it resulted in Furan giving her an acrimonious look, all the same.
The bait had been set, and Furan's mandibles were in the process of parting to take a bite at the hook dangling in the water, but at the last moment, the Elite clamped her jaws shut, content to just glare at the Spartan. Trying to explain the actions of the past would not do anyone any favors. It would not bring back the billions of lives that had been lost. They would simply have to endure the other for as long as it took.
Armitage made a show of glancing between Kelly and Furan, appearing miffed at having his briefing interrupted. His obsidian cloak shimmered as he rotated left to right, becoming temporarily iridescent, almost like the feathers of a peacock. After a beat, he deemed himself able to continue.
"The coordinates obtained from the Covenant Phantom indicate that one or all the members of Phoenix Unit landed on one of the continents here." As the AI spoke, a portion of the holographic world flashed yellow and a pincushion marker sprang up upon a topographically flat area. "This land was initially zoned for agricultural purposes—corn and wheat seem to be the most prominent exports. The area is ecologically moderate, and contains more grassland than forests."
"Any population centers?" Kelly asked.
"None from the projected paths the data was able to extrapolate. From these readings, the closest area that approximates a settlement would be 257 kilometers away."
"Hmm," the Spartan murmured in response. "Doesn't fit the usual MO. Phoenix Unit's been shown to infiltrate populated areas and exterminate the inhabitants. This seems a bit out of the way for them."
"Perhaps they have set up a base here, away from prying eyes?" Furan offered, trying to be helpful.
Kelly considered for a moment, then shook her head. "Doubtful. There are more varied areas on the planet, geography-wise, to put a base of operations when a mountain range or a dense forest would have been more appropriate. Unless the rogue unit has somehow either found or excavated an underground bunker for their own use, stationing themselves in this area is not strategically sound."
The Spartan was also simultaneously trying to decipher the motives of the unit in her head. The base theory was implausible and relied on too many suppositions for it to make the faintest bit of sense. She recalled moments where she had come across Covenant in seemingly unassuming areas, such as the middle of flat fields, to search for Forerunner artifacts. But the Covenant had been driven by their zealotry in fulfilling their misread prophecies to achieve their so-called Great Journey. Spartans had no such fanaticism, so the artifact theory could also be tossed out.
Then again, the members of this unit no longer became Spartans when they started killing civilians. Perhaps every aspect of their Spartan training had also been jettisoned when they had decided to betray what they had been chosen to uphold.
Reaching out, Kelly zoomed into the target zone on the planet using the holopedestal's haptic feedback. A swath of country, previously tilled and now reclaimed by nature, was overlaid against Phoenix Unit's projected landing zone. She connected to a separate database and created another filter for regulated development zones. The Spartan now overlaid this new filter against the one that had already been applied—a large area roughly a hundred square kilometers in size was now the only marked point on the map. A swath of farmland that bordered unclaimed territory—governmental records noted this colorized area as the Veisi Tract.
Armitage had seen where Kelly had been going with her search and he gave an admiring nod. "Well, that's certainly something."
"It's the only area that's ever been colonized that matches with the unit's marked route," Kelly said. "Other than that, I can't locate any other points of interest."
"One moment," Armitage said as his eyes began flashing different colors of orange, adopting a studious pose. "Looking up historical records on this 'Veisi Tract.'" After a moment, his digitized eyebrows gave a bump. "That is interesting."
"Interesting how?"
"Interesting because, when attempting to reference the keyword 'Veisi' in the UNSC database, the only hits I am able to uncover are from reports that have been heavily redacted."
Kelly shifted her weight to her other foot before leaning in closer. Her fingers tightened at the edge of the holopedestal.
"Did the UNSC have an interest in this 'Veisi' at all?" she asked.
"Funny you should mention that," Armitage said. "Because in trying to extract the data, I received pings from two separate classification systems. Two different databases, essentially. I managed to pull the metadata—one of which contained references to Operation TREBUCHET."
The word immediately rang a bell for Kelly. TREBUCHET had been the UNSC's official response to the growing Insurrectionist activity in the Outer Colonies, which had abruptly ended with the arrival of the Covenant in 2525. While not an all-out war in the legal sense, TREBUCHET had been the largest military operation of note for quite some time—it was a protracted and costly conflict, one that proved deeply unpopular with civilians as it went on with little in the way of gains to publicly show. Near the end of TREBUCHET, Kelly had actively been a participant in several of the smaller ops that had been initiated to act as a trial for the capabilities of the new Spartans, before she and the rest of her team were tasked with taking on higher value targets: figureheads of the Innie resistance. One could say that the Spartan program owed its existence to TREBUCHET, considering that the Covenant had not been anticipated prior to its creation.
Across from her, Furan looked lost. "I assume the connection has some significance, then?"
Armitage then quickly explained to the Elite what TREBUCHET had been designed to accomplish. Furan absorbed this knowledge stoically and gave a rueful shake of her head after the briefing had ended.
"Schisms and heretical dissent," she murmured. A glance towards Kelly. "Rebellion has become encoded in both our species, it seems. Perhaps things would have gone quite differently for humans had we let you settle your wars before making our first strike."
"Well, you didn't," Kelly drawled, which gave her the distinct pleasure of causing the Elite to appear miffed. She then tapped her fingers upon the side of the pedestal to return Armitage's attention back to her. "The source of the second ping. What did you find out?"
Armitage pulled a long face—for an AI, this was a deliberate action to humanize its response. It was not technically a tell.
"The database was tagged under ONI Special Projects. This particular project was the second generation of what was formerly code-named ORION," he said after a beat.
Somehow, Kelly was not even surprised.
"And that is?" Furan asked in the background, left behind once more.
"ORION Generation-II," Kelly said aloud. She slowly tipped her helmet upward, the hologram of Wichita turning oblong, like a jelly bean, upon her visor. "Also known as the SPARTAN-II program. The program that made me. Made Phaedra."
"Intriguing," Furan murmured, but said nothing else.
Kelly folded her hands behind her back and slowly traversed a path clockwise around Armitage's columned perch. Her mind was whirling with a hundred thoughts all at once, yet she felt she was unable to even catch one within that ghostly ether.
"The documentation cannot be a mistake. For whatever reason, the UNSC and the SPARTAN program both had an interest in this location." Kelly straightened, light from the holopedestal glowing at her front, but her helmet was as dim as a gray pearl, the face behind the visor clouded with concern. "Why would they overlap? The Spartans were never deployed to Wichita."
The AI spread his arms apologetically. "You know as much as I do on that, Petty Officer."
Kelly then leaned over so that she was towering over Armitage. For anyone else, this would have unnerved them down to the core to be staring at an faceless visage, but an AI did not feel fear like an organic—Armitage's expression changed not a whit.
"What happened on this planet, Armitage?" Kelly whispered, her voice so sharp it could have sliced through the bulkhead. "Why the redactions to the documents? Was it something the UNSC did during TREBUCHET? Or…" Kelly paused for two deliberate seconds, "…was it something the UNSC took?"
She did not need to elaborate any further. There was no question that Armitage understood the Spartan's oblique references. For a long time, Kelly had the terrible truth of the Spartan program revealed to her, that she, along with the rest of the candidates, had been kidnapped from their parents so that they could be indoctrinated into the perfect soldiers for the UNSC. She had been permitted to learn this knowledge in time, as had the rest of the Spartans, but she had felt no regret nor anger at her situation. Kelly had understood the desperation of the UNSC to even consider the creation of the Spartans, and although she intrinsically knew what they and Halsey did was morally wrong, there was nothing out there that made her ever want to stop being a Spartan. This life was all she knew. Even with it all laid out, she would never have chosen to have walked another path.
But that had been her decision to make. Others, it seemed, might not have felt the same way.
Cold ice felt like it was pooling in her stomach. Kelly had to widen her stance to keep from reeling. What is down on that world, waiting for me?
She composed herself, remembering that she had company. It would not do to see a Spartan thrown like this, despite the armor. There were some weak points that MJOLNIR armor was incapable of completely encasing.
"Three Spartans," Kelly said out loud, her previous questions discarded, "and only one sent to execute them. Why me, Armitage? What factored into ONI's decision to pick me and only me for this mission? They had to have understood the dangers that Phoenix Unit posed—so, knowing that, why was I part of their solution? Or, why was I the entirety of their solution?"
"I really can't say, Petty Officer," the AI's mouth twitched downward.
"Can't… or won't?"
Armitage narrowed his eyes and Kelly could see spirals of code constrict within his pupils. "The difference matters little. All you need to understand is that we are all on the same need-to-know basis regarding this mission. Remember, you're here to contain the breach in public trust. The political optics of you carrying your task out to the letter will result in dire consequences to not just the SPARTAN program but to the UNSC if you fail. For if there had been more Spartans delegated to such an assignment, the risk of exposure would have increased exponentially. I believe you are familiar with the drill, Petty Officer—minimal resources for minimal collateral damage. Is it so hard to believe that your assignment for your sole person is little more than standard tradecraft?"
Arms at her side, Kelly abruptly pivoted on a heel, now looking towards the canopy and past the transparent surface to look upon the fractal of unfolding space just outside. Until now, she had not decided if she had liked Armitage at all. Now, she was quite positive she loathed him very much.
"It's always been about me being a political pawn, is that it?" she growled to no one in particular.
"Only a Spartan can kill another Spartan," Armitage said to her back. "Then again, who else could have been entrusted to such a task?"
Kelly whirled back to the holopedestal, the light from which shimmered upon her armor like a ghostly apparition. "Phaedra shouldn't even be a Spartan. She failed the program. She was a washout. If ONI hadn't interfered, none of us would even be in this position."
"You know as well as I do that ONI has a tendency to let their own designs take precedent above everything else."
"Yeah," Kelly rasped. "And yet, look what they have created. It hasn't been the first time, from what I understand. They keep on making the same mistakes, only this time, they've unleashed something that they have no hope of controlling. Which is why they sent me to kill the unit. Phase them out of commission. Permanently. All so that their errors can easily be covered up."
Armitage just gave a little shrug. The kind that indicated a half-agreement—a sign that the AI was only partially humoring Kelly.
"Perhaps you're correct, Petty Officer. Or perhaps, ONI's machinations did nothing to aggravate the situation, because Phaedra had made her choice long beforehand."
Before the Spartan could respond, the AI gave a glance upward, as though he was considering a passing speck of dust that was floating over his head. But, after a beat, the moment passed and he resumed staring at Kelly with his unusually icy expression.
"I suggest you ready yourself, Spartan. We'll be making landfall on Wichita in fifteen minutes."
Wichita
Landmass Zone 11-3.76
The view out from the open ramp of the Nighthawk gave way to an unending field of yellowed grass so vast that it looked like a ragged palette of goldenrod had been smeared against the straight border where the blue sky touched the ground. A dry burst of wind funneled into the ship, but Kelly could not feel it through her armor.
At the same time, the two hydraulic lifts at the side of the cargo bay whined as they lowered the two Mongooses down from where they had been suspended. Kelly rolled both vehicles out near the ramp, just before where it sloped down to the ground.
The M274R Ultra-Light All-Terrain Vehicle was the latest iteration of the Mongoose quad-bike. It was essentially a military-spec ATV, only capable of carrying two passengers, but one of the fastest vehicles in the UNSC's arsenal. These particular Mongooses had no armaments to speak of, but Kelly didn't have a problem with that. A Mongoose was not designed to be an accurate weapon—its main purpose was to act as a tow vehicle or be utilized for courier operations. Very rarely was it deliberately used in combat, due to its propensity to roll over under direct fire. But in this case, its raw speed would certainly come in use over this terrain.
Kelly checked Oathsworn and slotted in one final slug into the loading chamber before she slung the shotgun over her back. She unholstered her pistol and used her thumb to pull the slide back half an inch—a textbook mag check. Confirming that the tiniest glint of brass peeked out in the clip, she released the slide and flipped the pistol once in her hand before she slotted it back into her holster in one smooth motion.
"It's roughly two hundred kilometers to the last known LZ of Phoenix Unit," she said to Furan who was standing next to the second Mongoose, her trusty plasma pistol at her waist. "We have only a few hours of daylight left. We'll ride through half the night and stop for a few hours under cover in the nearby woods. We should reach the site by morning."
"Yes, off to a place where at most three battle-tested Spartans are perhaps hunkered down within close proximity of each other," Furan rasped quite sarcastically. She then made a show of looking to the sidearm that she was touting. "I don't suppose that now you'll let me carry more substantial than this?"
"No," Kelly said flatly. "Now, stop asking."
"Shame. I did notice that there was a rocket launcher in the armory—"
"I said no."
Desperately wanting to switch to a topic other than guns, Kelly quickly gave the Elite a crash course on how the Mongoose worked. Luckily, Furan seemed to grasp the basic concepts well enough. The areas that she seemed to struggle with the most were the headlight switches and the horn, but Kelly did not delve too deeply into the history on why those particular features were there other than they just were. In the absence of the engineer, who could truly question the construct?
With the sky turning the color of caramel to the far east, Kelly straddled her Mongoose and pushed the ignition switch. The ATV immediately came to life, purring like a vicious feline predator. The cam loped and the block engine rattled in its harness. Calmly, she leaned forward, tested the throttle a few times by rotating her wrist back on the right handlebar. Satisfied that everything was good to go, she released her hold on the brakes and the Mongoose rolled down the ramp and hit the soft dirt below. Similar noises from behind her indicated to Kelly that Furan was dutifully following on her own vehicle, having indeed mastered the basics of driving it.
There were no roads on this part of the world. Kelly and Furan simply drove straight through the unruly fields of yellowed grass, the ragged stalks whipping at their armored shins as they seemed to glide through them like apparitions. The GPS unit on Kelly's vehicle constantly displayed a marker with the remaining mileage, along with an as-the-crow-flies style of directions. Her HUD also brought up the location of Phoenix's last known position whenever she double-blinked, always providing her destination at her beck-and-call to brim at the rim of the world far off in the distance.
They continued on their straight path for half an hour. The terrain was flat and even here, but every once in a while, there would be a bump in their path—holes made by the subterranean vermin on this planet, most likely. Kelly did not bother to decelerate, though. She was keen to watch the miles tick down on her counter, though she never ceased keeping her head on a swivel the entire time. Ambushes could come from anywhere—it never hurt to be too careful.
After some time, the two came to a wire fence, the first sign of any sort of civilization. Beyond that fence was a road, one that had been nearly overgrown by the nature sprawl, but was a road nonetheless.
Kelly didn't bother to stop and cut the fence. She just gunned the engine and the Mongoose smashed clean through the rusted wire. She then quickly skidded to a stop to wait for Furan to catch up.
"We're making good time," Kelly said as Furan pulled up next to her. She tracked the position of the sun for a quick second. "Nightfall will be in the next hour. We'll take this road as far south as it leads then make a turn directly for Phoenix's LZ."
"Figured that you would have preferred to have landed closer to their position," Furan said as she made a face while stretching her limbs, which had gone stiff from being locked in place for so long atop the Mongoose. "We might have wasted too much time by choosing a landing zone so far away."
"Well, you once tried the closer approach and look how that turned out," Kelly countered.
Furan's mandibles snapped shut, a hand unconsciously coming to the scar at her neck. Kelly knew that her comment had infuriated the Elite and could not resist a tiny smile that went unseen by the alien.
They resumed driving down the tangled excuse for a road. Grass crunched underneath the tires of their ATVs as they headed through the plains. The cloudless sky was now turning violet directly overhead—near the horizon, a brilliant shade of gold seemed to melt the edge of the world.
The dirt paths here were straight and one-lane wide. Old farm roads, created when Wichita had still been a viable colony. There were no branching paths, nor any unnecessary turns that skewed their direction. Nothing but right angles and an overarching sense of disuse. The farmers here had long left, the agricultural fields having been reclaimed by the natural order of the world.
The road took Kelly and Furan into a scraggly forest. Despite it still being light out, once they went underneath the canopy of trees, the darkness suddenly overtook them like a blanket had been thrown over their heads. Kelly flicked on the headlights to the Mongoose. Behind her, Furan accidentally put on her hazards—she eventually found the right switch after a couple more unsuccessful attempts.
Bushes and wild scrub scratched at Kelly's armor as she plunged through the forest at full tilt. They would come to a flimsy gate that marked the boundary between property lines, but the locks were so cheap that they simply shattered when Kelly drove her Mongoose into the gates.
The quad beams from the headlights cut yellow paths through the ragged darkness, and the motors of the ATVs roared as their drivers had to yank the handlebars this way and that. The terrain was bumpier here now and Kelly finally had to adjust her speed to avoid being thrown off if she hit a stray root the wrong way. However, the Mongooses took the obstacles in stride. They clambered over smooth rock escarpments, splashed their way across pebbled river crossings, and plowed through thick tongues of mud without complaint. Very soon, the riders were streaked with dirt, having accumulated quite the layer of filth from their journey.
Eventually, the trees soon thinned, giving way to brief scraggles of prairie pines, and scrawls of greasewood. They were now traveling atop a thin rise, giving them a slight edge in elevation. A low wall of hastily assembled rocks marked the barrier to their left. More featureless fields stretched on to infinity before them, a few black curls of additional forests blotting the landscape to their right. The sun was a red hemisphere before them, but they kept their headlights on as they moved across the fields, two wanderers in search of their dangerous prey.
Suddenly, Kelly grabbed the brakes to the Mongoose—the vehicle skidded to a stop so hard that it would have flung off anyone who had been holding on for dear life at the back. Furan had to adjust her course to avoid rear-ending Kelly's ATV.
"Why have we stopped?" the Elite asked.
The Spartan lifted a hand, indicating with a finger beyond the wall to the left, into the darkness. In the twilight, it was rather difficult to see, but the VISR system in her helmet was adept at distinguishing the surrounding area thanks to its low-light enhancement ability. And Furan, she knew, had a natural ability at seeing better in the dark than humans could.
"The floodplain down there is irregular," she said, gesturing to a adumbral area shrouded by low hills that acted as a home for unnatural structures, ones that had clearly not been generated as part of Wichita's macrocosm. "A grounds of some kind. Worth a look, considering it isn't marked on the map."
Without waiting for another word, Kelly smoothly swung her leg back over the Mongoose and stepped out upon the cooling road, her shotgun already out. She reached over and flicked on the flashlight that was mounted to her weapon's Picatinny rail. Furan, still perched on her vehicle, flirted with hesitation for a moment before she repeated the same actions, the lights on her now drawn pistol glowing a sickly green. They moved haltingly in the waning day, less like soldiers on their sanctified mission, but more like reapers helplessly gripped by their infernal drive to collect, mysteriously passing through shrub and wheat, their legs masked from the vegetation.
The two scaled the low wall and headed through the untrimmed field of grass as they approached the site. From this distance, it looked like a square zone had been etched into the ground, about twenty meters to a side. This zone was filled with many short and thin objects lined in sequence, all grouped by bars of iron rising not even three feet tall as a weak first effort to fend off any transgressors.
Kelly scanned the blue plain before her. Her HUD was not picking up any enemy movement—that didn't mean that no one was lying in wait for them. A raw crack of gray light was just now peeking out past the horizon—give it two more minutes and it would be completely dark. They would be doused in this vast amphitheater, destined to wander in their metaphorical blindness, searching for validation of their progress and of the goals that would bring such verification to their existence.
They were now upon the grounds that Kelly spoke of. Past the low-slung fence, the marked graves were clearly visible as they laid in their perfect evenness, with each headstone separated by the exact same amount of space as its neighbor. The cenotaphs were made of either stone or wood, but they had all been compiled together for the same purpose, the value of which nearly evened them to some degree.
With a hand, Kelly gently swung open the unlocked gate that led to the graveyard. The gate made a torturous squeal upon its disused hinges. She entered, with Furan close behind.
The Elite studied the graveyard. "A rather paltry attempt at a mausoleum," was her diagnosis.
"They wouldn't have had the money for such a thing here," Kelly said. "Now, be quiet. Someone might be watching us. Keep your guard up."
Silently, they treaded across the cemetery, observing every little sound upon the plain and scrutinizing every single scrap of resolute detail that they could find. They passed between the rows of graves, noting that some of them were unmarked, with only dates adorning their faces. None of them were ostentatious in any fashion—there were no ghastly depictions of revenant figures nor lofty allusions to religious symbols. It was typical colony sparseness to the most extreme. Even in the afterlife, the inhabitants maintained their economical ways.
Kelly's grip never lessened upon Oathsworn. She was prepared to bring her weapon up to bear within a split-second of anything chancing upon them. The round cornea of her flashlight slowly swept to and fro, bringing color to the grass and dirt underfoot as a respite from the stifling darkness of the night.
The Spartan swung her shotgun across a small grouping of graves… then quickly brought the light back onto them.
"Furan," she called. "Over here."
She waited until the Elite had come up to her before she illuminated five of the graves in front of her again. A dramatic sweep of her arm to extenuate the discovery. Unlike the others in this boneyard, these were different. All five of them had been completely exhumed, gaping holes gouged into the earth to reveal rotting and smashed plywood coffins. Through the cracks in the wood, Kelly could see the marbled yellow-white of bones, no longer trapped in their prison of dried flesh.
Kelly and Furan just stood there for a few moments, darkly absorbing the sight.
"There weren't any other graves like this that you saw?" Kelly asked.
Furan shook her head. "No. The rest of them were intact. This only confirms that the Covenant never set foot on this world."
"How can you tell?"
"Believe it or not, human," Furan sighed, "we do take such sacrileges seriously, Covenant and Banished alike. The dead are meant to lie where they have been interred. Sangheili would not dare perform such a dishonor, not even upon humans."
Kelly could accept that. Elites typically treated the dead with a bit more reverence than some humans would. Plus, Kelly never heard of any of the Covenant races stooping to grave-robbing or even outright defilement.
But she was not done with this area—her helmet cams were still recording everything she was seeing.
"The selection of these graves wasn't random." Kelly lifted her shotgun and illuminated the etchings upon the five headstones, one after the other. Each member bore the same last name: Panchak.
"A targeted affront, then," the Elite rumbled.
"Yes, but for what purpose?"
Kelly then saw that one of the hinges to the closest coffin box had been clearly broken in half. Not only had the corpses been dug up, but their coffins had been clearly violated as well.
She jumped into the grave, next to the coffin. Furan hissed, "Spartan!" from above, but she gave little notice. She could not see any booby traps or other telltale signs that the graves had been tampered with, not counting the obvious desecration. With one hand, she held her shotgun, and with the other, she slowly opened the coffin.
Dust billowed in a long sheet. The creak of the wood covering was the only thing that warped in the air for a time. Kelly remained frozen as she could finally see the body inside, or what was left of it. If the names of the deceased had not been upon the headstones, it would have been difficult if not impossible to tell if the corpse had been a man or a woman in life. Whatever clothes they had been wearing had rotted long ago, along with most of their flesh. Grey strips of sinewy material still clung to the joints of the remaining bones, which laid within the coffin without any order, like they had been jostled the first time they had been exhumed.
Moving her flashlight upward, she stopped as the light hit the bottom of the wood casket right where the neck of the corpse terminated. That was certainly not normal.
"They removed the head," Kelly said aloud. She then climbed out of the grave only to hop into the next one. She opened the coffin there—same result. And the same for the third. And the fourth. "They've all been taken."
"A tactic to terrorize the local populace?" Furan wondered.
"Doubtful," Kelly said. She then ascended from the grave in a single step, now standing next to Furan's side while they appraised the exhumed graves, a worrisome feeling deepening in both of their guts. "There's no tactical purpose in trying to intimidate farmers. The colony was mostly abandoned a while back—the dirt here was disturbed probably not even a month ago." She proved her point by shuffling a patch of soil next to her—the earthy material broke up in fresh clumps. "There would've been no one to intimidate at the time this happened."
"Yet, this was calculated all the same. Only these five graves. The one linkage being a name."
"And it's the only link we're likely to find right here." Kelly then opened a comm channel and connected it to the Nighthawk. "Armitage."
"Yes, Petty Officer?" the voice of the AI oozed into her ear.
"Run a cross-check on those two documents you've uncovered, along with any colonization database of Wichita that you can find. Search against this keyword, which is a last name: Panchak."
"Certainly. One moment." In no time, the AI was speaking again. "We have a hit. Panchak family—five members in total on Wichita. Patriarch was Ronald Panchak. Ran an impressively sized farm on the continent. Apparently, they specialized in brussels sprouts and garlic."
"Any connections to the two operational documents you found earlier?"
"Yes, on the one for Operation TREBUCHET. Most of the passages are redacted, as you already know, but there are multiple references to the acronym CHS interspersed throughout the document, mostly in relation to Ronald Panchak."
"CHS," Kelly repeated. "Confidential Human Source. There would only be one reason why that acronym would be mentioned in tandem within that report. You're saying that this Panchak was an informant for the UNSC?"
"Evidentially," the AI responded. "The interesting thing is that Panchak had some sort of vested interest in the Veisi Tract, considering his property bordered it. The linkages to connected documents within the database just devolve into several folder hierarchies, many of them pertaining to court cases administered by the local governments—apparently there had been a legal interest established years prior. I cannot determine the reason why Panchak came forward as an informant, but the attached records indicate that once the UNSC's operations on the Veisi property had concluded as part of TREBUCHET, Panchak had the entirety of the tract purchased at a significant discount under the fair market price."
"Sounds like he clearly had something to gain," Kelly said. "He informs on the Veisi family and he gets their property at a steep discount. The question is, was Panchak's reasoning for acting as an informant made out of a genuine desire to assist Operation TREBUCHET, or was it a complete act of self-interest?"
"Whatever the case," Furan stepped in, having been on the same channel the whole time, "someone clearly felt like they were wronged from his actions. Why else would they have gone to the trouble of removing his skull from his grave, along with the skulls of his family members?"
Something was missing that did not make sense to Kelly. She walked from grave to grave, illuminating each coffin that sat within it, trying to piece together the timeline of events. There was an almost ritual significance to this sort of disrespectful conduct—it made no sense for it to be in use in this day and age.
She took in a breath. "Armitage," her voice dropped a dynamic in volume, "can you pull the cause of death for the Panchak family? The dates of their deaths are all the same. I just noticed that some of these are children. Were they all killed at once?"
Dutifully, the AI was there with an answer. "Found a Wichita coroner's report. Apparently the Panchak family had all succumbed to a bout of fatal poisoning about ten years after the incident on the Veisi Tract. The family had been discovered in their home, all with unreasonably high doses of an analogue to the drug phencyclidine in their system."
That explanation immediately did not gel with the Spartan. "Phencyclidine is a powerful hallucinogenic that is easy to overdose on. Why did all five members have it in their system?"
"The report contains mostly hypotheses on that. The outer colonies were hive-beds for drug activity, do recall—so far separated from the core systems, many colonists turned to crafting drugs as another source of income. One explanation was that the Panchak family had been running a PCP lab that had suffered a catastrophic accident, but no cooking materials had been located on the scene, nor did the family succumb to any of the usual causes of death in drug manufacturing accidents, such as being too close to explosive chemical reactions or by inhaling toxic fumes. Another explanation is that the water supply had been poisoned with the drug, but they could find no conclusive proof for that, either."
"Why not? Phencyclidine wouldn't completely dissolve in water unless several days had passed."
"That's also mentioned in the report," Armitage said. "Local authorities only found the family dead in their house after a week. Traces of the drug were only located in the bloodstream of the victims, not the water supply, but they concluded that it was lab-synthesized. They couldn't prove it was a deliberate poisoning, but they couldn't rule it out, either."
That was rather disturbing for Kelly to hear. Lab-synthesized drugs had been the cause of the last epidemic to have run throughout all of the UNSC-held worlds. They were made to mimic the effects of illicit drugs that were naturally produced, or sometimes to even enhance their properties. They were severely dangerous and also skirted many legal regulations due to their modified chemical structures.
"So," Kelly said after thinking, "the Panchak family—they died from organ failure after presumably having consumed a fatal amount of this particular drug, correct?"
"Oh, not exactly," the AI said almost cheerily. "The compound turned the victims into a psychotic state. The authorities found the family had been ripped to shreds all from their own hands. The mother had torn out her own intestines after slicing herself open with a kitchen knife. The father had pulled out his own eyes, most likely after he had broken the spines of his children with his bare hands."
Kelly just sighed.
"Spartan," she heard Furan call from a corner of the graveyard. "You'd better come here."
The Elite was shining a miniature taclight that Kelly had given her over where a patch of unmowed grass was tufted like an unruly cowlick. The green spindles obscured something white and ossein through the tangle. Kelly knelt down and gently parted the grass.
The smashed remains of the skulls of the Panchak family lay scattered and combined, separated eye sockets staring at nothing through the empty calderas, not at all comprehending the pain that had been inflicted unto them, both in life and in death.
Hours later, a fire crackled in the silence of the wooded night, the two witnesses seated with the flames evenly separating them. They had made camp fifty miles from the graveyard, in the recesses of an old forest, next to a paltry cliff about nine or ten feet high. The ground had shelfed here, but sloped downward only a few feet away, down to where a creek ostensibly gurgled. The trees here obscured the gray moon—the Spartan figured that the black trunks and the cliff were enough to hide the fire from any wandering eyes. She constantly kept an eye on her motion tracker, just in case.
Furan sat cross-legged, watching the flames saw in the stale air. The light caused her eyes to glow as red as the coals that fed the glimmering beast. Embers popped and crackled, deepening as they were ejected from the magmatic core only to pale as they transgressed out into the night. Across from her, that same fire raged and warped in the visor of Kelly's helmet, as though as it were trapped behind a barrier of golden ice and it was fighting to melt its way out. But the Spartan could hold that fire within, for as long as it took, as Spartans did not feel the urge to shy away from such things, not even that which nature could not control.
After what had felt like hours had passed, Kelly reached up and slowly pulled off her helmet. She set the now-empty covering to the side, her pale face transformed yellow-orange from the dancing of the flames before her. Through the cavalcade of light, Furan studied the human, her eyes ever fixed into position. Kelly stare caught the Elite's and she maintained a determinative blink, knowing what the alien was thinking.
Reaching from a pouch, Kelly brought out a packet of cashews and a wrapped pound cake. Carefully, she unwrapped the cake first—the package read "Jalapeno and Cheese." Kelly quickly stuffed the pound cake down in the span of several bites, never breaking eye contact with Furan the whole time. She then poured fistfuls of cashews into a gloved hand and munched on them for a couple of minutes until she had run through the packet. The Spartan then took a quick draw of water from a small bottle, gathered her trash, placed it back upon her belt, and then reapplied her helmet. The entire process had taken less than five minutes.
Kelly never liked leaving herself so exposed while on a mission, but maintaining one's energy through the consumption of food was a tragic necessity that sometimes befell soldiers at inconvenient times. It was fortunate that she had this advantageous location to take care of such business with a modicum of safety.
Furan made a noise that sounded like a chuckle. She turned her head in the direction of the slope, her eyes mirrored red.
The Spartan tilted her head. "Something amuses you?"
Having picked up a smooth stone, the Elite tossed it into the air a few times before she flipped it into the fire. A ragged tornado of sparks spat from the basketry of glowing sticks. She then looked at Kelly again. "A thought," she said. "To you, a gesture as innocuous as removing your helmet might be viewed just so among your people. Had such a sight been witnessed among my people earlier in our war, it would have dispelled a great many myths about you Spartans. You Demons."
Kelly gave a stiff nod. "Your side wasn't in the habit of taking prisoners back then. Still isn't, to be clear. Not many chances for you to have satiated any curiosity you might have had."
"It was hard to ignore the reports. Scattered survivors of conquered worlds limped back to their fleets, spreading tales of armored humans, a cut above the rest. Physically imposing and as strong as the best trained of Sangheili warriors. The rumors quickly spread. One popular one was that the demons—" Furan seemed to sense a hint of irascibility waft from Kelly and she clicked her mandibles in a show of contriteness. "I mean, Spartans—were soldiers who had been killed in battle and had been brought back to life through the technical artistry of the Forerunners. Many accepted the stories as truth, for it was difficult to explain how the Spartans could have naturally existed alongside their human progenitors. For evolution is not a process that can so easily be circumvented—the disparity between you and any other human was so great that some had begun to think you were a different species entirely."
Kelly shifted herself so that she was now resting an arm atop her bent knee, her shotgun back in a hand. "UNSC had actually caught wind of those rumors when they had first cropped up. From what I was told, the psy-ops people were very amused at the imagination of the Covenant. Believe they made significant efforts to ensure that everyone in the Covenant heard those rumors as far across the galaxy as the word could spread."
"It was indeed effective," the Elite admitted, the firelight making her bumpy skin appear like it was constantly shifting. She absorbed the sound of the dry forest for a minute before making a wan noise that sounded akin to a sigh. "And now, I find myself here. Amusing. Would've imagined that you would have been more fearsome."
Now it was Kelly's turn to emit a breathy rasp that almost vocalized as a chuckle. Her shotgun made a clicking noise as she settled the weapon off her armored knee. "You sound disappointed."
"The survivors. The males. If you had heard how they described the Spartans, you would have understood the moniker of 'demon.' For they spoke of beings both made of flesh and metal, commanding the battlefield with artistic grace. How they could be both honorable and dishonorable all at once—beings who only sought to kill for a higher purpose, never one's own glory. Immune to the lust of war, yet never far when it called."
Sangheili and humanity shared a disconnect in how they viewed modern warfare, Kelly knew. A Sangheili typically carried what could be kindly described as an obsession in maintaining their own personal honor. They could be respectful in battle to their foes, to the point where they would give up tactical advantages in favor of their own zealotry to maintain or in some cases increase their level of honor. It was a weakness that the Spartans had exploited time and again, for a Sangheili's better judgment could be so easily clouded with the prospect of entering a worthy fight.
Kelly held no aspirations for clout-chasing. Such proclaimed 'worthy' fights were usually the type of fights in which she ended up with scars. For a Spartan, battle could be distilled down to its ultimate binary level: the living and the dead. And it was only for Kelly's desire not to join the dead that she had ended up victorious, time and again.
She gave a thin shrug. "Sounds like your own propaganda helped do the job for us."
"You would truly be content to have your own deeds remain anonymous, then?" Furan asked, sounding surprised.
"That was never the intention of the program," Kelly said, the fanning of the flames acting as a wild curtain between her and the Elite. "Spartans weren't made to be anointed."
"'Made,'" Furan snorted, as if she had trouble believing the word. "Even you are unable to cast off your own inscrutable origins. Were you Sangheili, you would have been shamed for suggesting that greatness could be achieved other than one's own efforts. Then, if not for glory, for what?"
Kelly did not so much as stir. Her visor seemed to radiate with the jittery flames that groped like unruly fingers towards the shrouded stars.
"To win."
The Elite gave a knowing bob of her head. "An admirable sentiment."
"The program worked, didn't it? The two of us are here, right at this moment, when before, we would have been at each other's throats."
Furan flexed her mandibles. "For now."
Kelly tightened her grip upon Oathsworn. "Something else you want to add?"
Stretching her legs, Furan looked like she was about to stand, but she was merely readjusting herself on the ground. The shadows that splayed behind her on the tree trunks seemed to be locked in staccato combat with one another, fleeting moments of warfare trapped in realms of darkness and light.
"Consider for a moment, that tomorrow, we find your Spartans and kill them," she said. "What happens in the aftermath? You would allow me to collect my armor and leave?"
The faceless stare from the Spartan's helmet seemed to dim somewhat.
"I imagined that would be the only logical next step," she replied, rather stiffly.
The Elite regarded her with a dubious stare. "It would be so simple for you to release your custody of me? Or would your natural hatred of me prevent you from adhering to your word?"
Maybe it was the insufferable tone that the Elite had infused her words with that caused Kelly's brow the furrow so deeply, or it was the fact that she had made an assumption about the Spartan that was so far off the mark it was almost insulting, but she was almost about to reply "I don't hate you," before she locked her jaw completely shut, the thought now having hit in full. Perhaps the statement had more truth than she had initially considered, now that she had time to absorb the impact. She had seen friends, comrades, innocents fall to the plasma bolts and blades of the Elites upon worlds too many to count, whether on the battlefield or in the dense tangle of an urbanized sprawl. After enduring such genocide, even a Spartan could have a tough time shaking such biases.
Kelly minutely rotated her head away. "Killing isn't the only way of settling accounts."
"Just the one that you're used to."
"And you would know that better than I would?" The obvious inclination hung in the air, left unsaid.
A wave of heat washed between the two, momentarily distorting Furan's face.
"No," the Elite finally said. "Yet we both know I am not mistaken."
Sparks glimmered like comets in the absence of the sun. The croaks from animals near the creek seeped from down the slope. The two warriors continued to watch one another until they had each come to the conclusion that their little discussion had concluded for the night.
Kelly offered to take the first watch while Furan got in a few hours of precious sleep. The two would need their strength once the sun rose with the coming day, considering what lay ahead for them.
Now, the Spartan was left sitting by herself, while Furan dozed upon her back a ways from the fire. She had one leg bent, the other straight out, as she cradled her shotgun in both hands. The flames had died down to a dull simmer by now, appearing as a cauldron of magmatic rocks glowing a deep crimson. The metal of her weapon seeped the same color, almost as if she was wielding a terrible device that had just been pulled from the smelter, hot and hissing.
Alone with the night, Kelly watched and waited for the first sign of trouble to rear its head.
"Faster, Trainees! Remember—you need to beat your collective time or you will be going to bed without dinner! And it's BBQ night, what a shame that would be if you had to miss out on the ribs!"
Kelly barely heard Chief Mendez's words of "encouragement" as she raced through the grove of ash trees. The forests of Reach rustled angrily with long bursts of wind, which were now home to seventy-five children running through the three-mile obstacle course that had been erected within it.
The game was one of Mendez's old favorites: Ring the Bell. A self-explanatory game, except that this time, instead of positioning the bell at the top of a modular playground, the chief had devised a long and sprawling route to get to the bell this time, complete with multiple pathways. The game was never the same configuration twice, there was always a new wrinkle that the chief would add.
Today's wrinkle came in a pair of twists, this time. In addition to the endurance route that had been created, Mendez had forced the trainees' usual three-man squads to partner with a sister squad. Kelly's usual squad, in which she had been paired with Sam—a sandy-haired boy with tanned skin—and John—shorter, buzzed brown hair—now was forced to work alongside with the squad that contained Fred, Linda, and Phaedra. Mendez had hinted at the start that it would be advantageous for the squads to split themselves up and that grouping all six of them together down one route of the course was ill-advised. The chief rarely gave hints that weren't meant to be taken seriously, so the six of them had already strategized before the word "Go!" had been uttered from Mendez's mouth.
The race had started off disastrously for Kelly. She had taken the leftmost route with Phaedra, where they easily had scrambled up and down a cargo net obstacle together. Kelly was first in her group as always, until she came to a low bridge that had been positioned over a small pool of water. She had bounded across it, not really thinking, when all of a sudden, it flipped over, sending her head over heels into the icy water below.
She had surfaced, and her breath explosively exited her lungs in a long lowing noise. The water had been filled with ice cubes—immediately, her teeth started chattering. Trembling, she spent a precious half-minute trying to pull herself out of the drink, thinking that the chief had to be a sadist.
There was a burst of laughter to her right. Kelly looked over. One of the trainees from another squad was grasping his belly with gut-busting howls as he ran away from a panel that had wires spooling from its back and towards the obstacle that Kelly had just attempted to traverse.
So, that was what Mendez had meant by recommending splitting themselves up—there were switches all over the course that other teams could manipulate to slow down their competitors.
She looked all over for her own squadmate. There was movement from her competition passing her by while she was still kneeling on the ground in her half-frozen state, but she could not spy the face she was looking for. Phaedra was nowhere in sight. Kelly angrily slapped the ground—so much for teamwork.
It was a short run to the next obstacle. A perfect opportunity to make up for lost time. Kelly tucked her long mane of blue hair into her headband and put on a grimace as she ran. Her sweatpants clung with moisture from the pool around her legs, as did her sweatshirt. She rolled up the sleeves of the sweatshirt with a grunt. Within seconds, she was passing fellow trainees right and left. Her route was taking her alongside a small rocky rise—down below, she could see the runners on one of the other routes scramble to overtake the other.
A small but fierce smile came as a whisper before it spread as a lion's grin across Kelly's face. She couldn't help it. This was what she was good at.
There was a rope swing up ahead—some of the trainees had bunched up at the entrance, momentarily unsure. Kelly was in no mood to wait in line. She shot forward, elbowed a few of the lollygaggers out of the way, leaped, and caught the first rope perfectly. Another pool of water awaited below, but she ignored it. She didn't need any more motivation not to fail. Her momentum carried her over to the next rope, then the one after that. She let go of the final rope and rolled when she hit the ground.
Lightning fast, she sprang back up to her feet and hit one of the switches at the far end of the platform. She heard yelps behind her as an electric current momentarily zapped across the ropes—there were several splashes as some of the shocked trainees had let go, only to fall into the water below.
Kelly spared a look back and she gave a laugh. Now, things were finally going her way!
There was a winding switchback trail that took her into a low gully. She elected to avoid that path and instead slid down a long shelf of ancient scree that had been ground to pebbles from some long-past geological event. She positioned her body sideways—right foot first—and used her left hand to steer her descent. She was back to her feet and running once she reached the bottom, having passed three other trainees in the process.
She was moving like the wind. Nothing could catch her.
A larger trainee was taking up the full span of the path ahead. He looked behind, saw her coming, and made to move into her way. She tried to dart to the side, but he anticipated her movement and blocked her. Kelly gave a frustrated huff. Fine, if that was what he wanted…
She feinted left then immediately went to the right again as soon as she saw the trainee's body lurch in her anticipated direction. With a grin, she passed the boy. He took a swing at her, but she easily ducked it. To teach him a lesson, Kelly stuck her leg out and tangled the boy's legs with her own. He went down, face-first, but she was still standing.
A wall about ten feet tall, made out of a dark stained wood, now barred the path forward. Hadrian's Wall, this obstacle was called. Teamwork was recommended to scale the wall, but there were slight protuberances on its face that could be scaled by one person without assistance.
There was no one else around and Kelly did not feel very much like waiting.
Still hurtling forward, she leaped towards the wall and practically smashed her face into it. Sometimes, she forgot her own speed. Her nose was now dribbling blood, but she had not broken it. She ignored the distraction and carefully positioned her feet upon the nearly invisible boards that jutted out just enough to give her shoes purchase. In no time, she had ascended to the top, her face streaked with blood and sweat, but the feral grin that snaked from her mouth overrode any discomfort she had accumulated up until now.
Kelly swung a leg over the wall, preparing to drop to the other side, when she heard someone call behind her.
It was Phaedra.
"Kelly!" the girl cried as she ran down towards Hadrian's Wall. Kelly noticed that she was limping and clutching her chest. She must have passed Phaedra on that last shortcut past the switchbacks.
Phaedra reached the wall and tried to ascend, her hands scrambling at the smooth sides. Her face was a mask of panic, tears bubbling at the corners of her eyes as she struggled to get up. She was not thinking clearly, only adrenaline fueling her moves.
"Kelly, please! Help me up!"
Wiping her nose, her hand coming away bloody, Kelly sat atop the wall, staring down at the nearly hysterical girl below. For one fragile moment, she thought what was going to happen if she just did nothing. They were supposed to have been a team, yet Phaedra had left Kelly to fend for herself. It had not been the first time, either. She suppressed the urge to give a solemn shake of the head down at the girl—when was she going to learn?
Hand outstretched at the bottom, Phaedra had started to climb some of the footholds, but only stopped at the halfway point. She looked like she was about to disintegrate into blind sobs—understandable, considering she had been the main target of Mendez's scorn for most of the week. Twice already in the last five days had she gone without dinner. A third would just be torture.
But then, a split-second later, Kelly came to her senses. She bent down and reached out. The girls' hands met and clutched tightly upon one another. Phaedra scrambled over the top and paused a moment to catch her breath.
"Thank… you…" she burst in between gasps.
Kelly just stared. "Together, next time," she said softly, taking off the edge so that it did not seem like she was chiding her.
She dropped down from the wall and rolled, exiting in a low crouch. Phaedra did the same a few seconds later, but not after she had looked forlornly at her friend down below as she was perched atop the wall, the ghost of an apology exhibited behind her eyes, yet it would never find its voice.
Once they had both come back down to level, Kelly immediately paced herself at a comfortable speed, but when she looked behind her two seconds later, she noticed that Phaedra was already lagging.
No, she thought. I won't make the same mistake.
She skidded to a halt and doubled back to her friend. Phaedra's limp was clearly affecting her gait, and she was back to holding a hand at her sternum. Her breathing was ragged, as if she had been hoarsely hacking her lungs out just minutes beforehand.
She looked up. Saw Kelly coming. Held out a hand in protest. "You should go—"
"We're a team," Kelly cut Phaedra off, as if there was any other answer to give. "You're coming across that line, same time as me."
Kelly hooked Phaedra's right arm around her shoulders—she used her own left hand to press into the space between Phaedra's shoulder blades. At the same time, she pushed and pulled the girl forward, fast enough to speed Phaedra up, but not slow enough for her feet to give out under her.
"Come on, Spartan," she panted, not just to herself but for the girl next to her who needed to hear the words the most. "We're not done yet."
The winding path of the forest before them, the trainees soldiered through the rocky and uneven bends, the muddy lowlands, and the unforgiving hills. Phaedra was wheezing the whole way, but attached practically at the hip alongside her, Kelly was nothing less than resolute. Only one of them had their head held high the rest of the way, uttering nothing but words of encouragement the whole time.
"Run, Spartan. Run, Spartan. Spartan… Spartan…"
"Spartan. Spartan."
In a flash, Kelly's eyes opened and she sat up in one smooth motion so fast that she might not have been lying down at all. Her shotgun was still clenched in her right hand and she swung the muzzle up and affixed it just under Furan's jaw, who had been kneeling beside her body so that she could shake her back to consciousness. Only faint recognition was enough to still her hand—she had not even realized she had been asleep.
The Elite, for her part, did not flinch away, instead weighed down by some innate staunchness. She merely inclined her head just so, trying to have the bore of the shotgun rest at a more comfortable area on her neck. Her nostrils fluttered calmly and she spread her fingers widely to show her intent.
In the next breath, Kelly pulled the weapon away. She set to her feet—Furan rose at the same time.
Details of their surroundings began to seep in. The clouded sky through the unraveling tree branches was the color of riflesmoke. Gray embercoke had formed a ruffled pyramid where the fire had gone out, trapped within its rim of stones. Leaves made a sloughed blanket upon the ground and the creek could be glimpsed now that it was light out.
Still not settled, Kelly gripped her weapon with both hands, but made sure to keep it away from Furan. The alien was pensively appraising her, strangely no judgement becoming firm within her eyes.
"You're awake," Furan gave a nod. "Good."
Kelly made a fierce gesture with a free hand. "Don't do that again. If you want to wake me, just call out, but do not touch me. Is that understood?"
Furan paused as she formulated her response. "It is understood." She then grasped the collar of her armor and tightened it upon her body, transferring whatever energy that would otherwise be delegated to her emotions into actual physical movement. Kelly could stand to learn something from the alien. "Past time we make ready, then. Gather your wits, Spartan. Today, we meet your apostates."
The Elite then slowly backed away before turning around, her head making the last motion as she finally broke contact with her eyes. She then headed down the low rise, leaves crunching underneath her boots, back towards where they had camouflaged the Mongooses down near the stream.
Kelly watched Furan leave for a couple moments. She unfurled a deep sigh and then stowed her shotgun upon the rack along her back. Rolling her neck to dissipate the stiffness that had accumulated during the night, she followed the Elite down to their vehicles. Lumbering form though she may have appeared, she descended the slope as nimbly as a fox, for with every breath her mind cleared further and her resolve merely hardened. For today, she would finally be able to prove to Furan that the ones they hunted were not Spartans and had not been for a long time. Rina, Logan, and Phaedra. Just names on a board to be crossed off. Nothing special about them whatsoever.
In no time, the forests were beholden to the rattle of engines and the downshifts of the automatic transmissions. A Spartan and an Elite both set off from the old growth, the creek dropping away behind them, their revenant purpose renewed with the lighting dawn.
A/N: Six chapters into Rabbit Zero-Eight-Seven so far - I'm particularly curious to hear what people think about the story as it currently stands. Anything bad? Anything good? Constructive criticism is always appreciated.
Playlist:
A Pleasant Wichita Night Drive
"Tick of the Clock"
The Chromatics
As featured in: Drive (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)
Graveyard
"Poison Garden"
Hans Zimmer
No Time To Die (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)
Obstacle Course
"The Diamond Campaign"
Ludvig Forssell
Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain (Original Video Game Soundtrack)
